After the War
by windeer
Summary: The Reaper Wars have ended, leaving Commander Jane Shepard horribly wounded with a broken ship on the edges of space. She's not alone, but somehow that seems like less than a blessing. Shenko.
1. Chapter 1

After the War

Consciousness returned with the feral viciousness that could only be reality. Her eyes fluttered open, crescents of searing white light flashing apocalyptically and her breath rasped, every movement a gargantuan effort. Blurry colours, bereft of defined shape or sense. She tried to speak and produced nothing but a wet whimper. She was weak, delirious with the sudden vertigo of awareness after so much darkness. A hazy shape appeared, a face as big as the world. Familiarity surfaced somewhere behind the pain and screaming confusion. She knew this person, whoever they were.

She reached for the face, felt a cool hand against the burning skin of her wrist.

"It's okay Shepard. Don't move. You're okay." The voice shocked her, sent her reeling back, away as the person pushed her hand back down to the bed.

"K-Kaidan?" She rasped. Couldn't be. Kaidan was dead.

No sound. No Pain. No light.

More darkness.

Then, dreams.

She knew they were dreams because Ash was there, gun over her shoulder. She didn't speak, even as Shepard called out. She tried to run, to reach the woman but she never seemed to get any closer. Ash didn't seem to notice her, just continued grinning and laughing. Blasts from Geth guns tore holes in her armour. Blood spurted and poured, pooled around her feet. Ash didn't seem to notice, just kept grinning before she promptly turned to stone. Shepard finally reached her, brushed her fingers against the stone and felt the floor suddenly give way beneath her feet. She fell.

There were faces here, huge faces that hung in the air as she tumbled down into infinite darkness. Ash with her cocky smile. Joker, solemn and monstrous with his red beard scorched and smoldering. The Council that she had doomed, a host of crewmen she had fought beside in the ensuing Reaper Wars. And Kaidan.

Shepard fell and fell, Kaidan's face smiling down at her like it had that night, lined in faint blue light. Affection, love that she didn't deserve. Had never deserved. She fell and fell and fell. Eventually even Kaidan faded and it was just oblivion again. Eventually.

The second time was easier, just like waking up. Consciousness swam up through her mind, blurring the lines between sleeping and waking. She opened her eyes and the ocean of blurry colours resolved themselves into shapes. A medical ward. She was not alone.

She tried to push herself up, but her limbs would not respond. She looked down at her arms to find them wasted away from their former glory, muscles atrophied into sinew. She was pale, the overhead lights making her skin almost translucent. An I.V needle rested on the back of her hand like an insect and she moaned with sickness. Too many painkillers, too much pain that needed killing. She had never felt so terrible in her life, so weak and wasted. There was a cry of absolute joy.

"Commander!" Liara appeared suddenly at her bedside table, large eyes underscored by deep bags. Shepard had thought that the asari never aged, that they all stayed young and beautiful while human bodies decayed. But war had accomplished what time couldn't for the young woman, driven deep lines into her forehead with stress and terror, scored a trio of fine scars across one cheekbone with shrapnel, dulled her eyes with shock and apathy. But she smiled now, and some of that lessened in the moment.

"Liara?" Her voice rasped with disuse. "What? Where?"

"You were shot." Liara whispered, covering one of Shepard's hands with her own. "In the back. One of the crew members on the bridge in the final assault was indoctrinated and he tried to kill you. He... he almost succeeded. The shot it-"

"Took out half your liver and most of one lung, as well as shattering about a foot of your spine." Dr Chakwas interupted as she appeared beside Liara, holding a syringe in one hand. "Lucky for you, the salarians brought their best surgeons and doctors with them to help in the aftermath. Bloody optimistic, and it saved your life. They managed to use a prototype medigel to reconstruct your organs, even your spine. You should make a full recovery."

Shepard lay there, not saying anything, trying to absorb all that information. They'd won then, she thought hollowly. They'd won, and she'd almost died. But not died. Instead, found herself shrivelled and sick in a strange hospital.

"Where?" She asked quietly, her voice numb with the insanity of it all.

"You're in the Normandy. It's landside at Menadie-6, at one of the emergency field hospitals set up to handle the wounded. We thought you'd be grateful to wake up somewhere familiar, Commander. Now I think it's time you got a little bit more sleep." The hand holding the syringe reared like a cobra.

"No, no more sleep." Shepard replied, trying to fight her off only to be reminded of the sorry state of her body.

"That wasn't a request. As the only and therefore chief medical personnel on this vessel I am authorized to override your decision for the good of your own health." She injected the sedative into the I.V tube as Shepard shook in helpless rage. There wasn't time to sleep! She needed to... she needed to...

"Liara." She turned back to the alien woman, as the drug began to take hold. "I thought I saw... I thought Kaidan was here."

"He was, Shepard." Liara rested one hand on her forehead soothingly. The drug was building capacity within her system now, making colours blend together, stealing shape and destinction from the world.

"But how? Kaidan's..." Dead, she thought.

Darkness again.

*

"I told you it wasn't a good idea for you to go in there." Doctor Chakwas scolded as she entered the mess hall. Kaidan Alenko was sitting at one of the tables, picking at his food. His normally voracious appetite had waned significantly since Shepard had woken up. Somehow, when she was still unconscious and physically broken it had been less terrible that the woman who lived her fleeting moments of consciousness in the constant grip of morphine. And the Doctors constant verbal assaults where getting hard to tolerate, as much as Kaidan understood that she was just worried and helpless and sleep deprived. The galaxy wanted to see the great Commander Shepard, smiling triumphantly against a backdrop of exploding Reapers. The council wanted to give them that and pressured Chakwas to do anything, ANYTHING to make her better, ignoring the fact that at this point it might be too much to hope that it would ever happen.

He understood this. He felt bad for her. But she was still being a bitch.

"I had to. I've told you this." Kaidan replied quietly. He didn't have the energy to argue. The Normandy had sustained heavy damage in the final battle two weeks ago, and he'd been working double shifts, him and everyone else on the vessel, trying to get it fixed so they could escape the field hospital and get the Commander somewhere that would be able to fix her more thoroughly.

The Doctor merely glared at him. "It's confusing her. She can't figure out where she is. Half the time she thinks she's dreaming, and the other half she's not even making that much sense."

"I'm no doctor ma'am, but maybe it's the obscene amounts of painkillers you keep pumping into her that are confusing her, not me." Kaidan replied, a faint glare cutting into his pale forehead.

"Don't take that tone with me, Alenko. If I didn't give her something to help with the pain she really would be insane. Her body is trying to recover from something it was never supposed to recover from. I'm tempted to say that no human has ever survived a wound like that before. She's in so much shock I... I honestly don't know if she'll be able to come back from it." Kaidan looked up sharply, studying the doctors graying face.

"Are you saying that she's going to stay like that forever?" He asked. "Even without the morphine?"

"I'm saying that it's time the galaxy got used to the idea of life without Commander Shepard, because it's very likely that even if she does make a full recovery she will never be the same woman again."

*

She had been awake almost an hour now, the clock told her, and she was determined that it was going to stay that way. She was so weak she could barely move. Her skin felt tight and hot against the entire right side of her rib cage, where bone had been replaced with steel replica after being pulped by the shotgun blast. Wrex sat beside her, despite Doctor Chakwas stern disapproval.

"Do you think you can do this for me Wrex?" She asked, wrinkling her nose in an attempt to disengage the furious itch that had been nagging her for the past two hours. Wrex nodded his heavy head, the scarred scales glinting in the dull light.

"We're both warriors Shepard, I've always said that. What they're doing to you right now is not the way warriors should be treated." The krogan's gravelly voice was oddly soothing to the wounded commander. It was familiar. Wrex still treated her with the odd mixture of warriors respect, army friendship and krogan detachment. Nothing had changed in the way he regarded her.

The Doctor appeared, wrinkling her nose at the krogan's continued presence and went to retrieve her trusty syringe.

"I think it's time you left Wrex." She said in her gentle, medical way. "The Commander needs to rest."

"No she doesn't." Wrex replied, not budging from where he sat, crouched on his heels. "And I think it's time you stopped forcing those needles on her."

The Doctor stopped, stiffening with anger. "I think I have the ability to judge my patients needs far more accurately than you, Wrex." She replied sternly. She tried to side step the krogan only to have him shift, so he stood directly between her and the Commanders I.V bag. A look passed between them.

Shepard interjected, her voice coming out clear and concise for the first time since she'd woken up. "Obviously you're mistaken, Doctor. Since you have repeatedly pulled rank on me during the course of this mission. You have no rank to pull. I am a Spectre and therefore my authority exceeds even your medical assessments. I will not be drugged back into a coma. Despite my... condition, I am fully capable of facing reality with the rest of you."

The Doctor turned to her, studied her face tentatively.

"That sounded almost like you, Commander." She conceded, setting the syringe aside. "It's good to hear your voice again."

Shepard calmed herself, letting her anger go. The Doctor was just doing her job. There was no reason to be so angry about someone just doing their job.

"I'm glad. Now please," she settled back against her pillows, "get a physical therapist in here."

"Yes ma'am." The Doctor hesitated. "Is that all?"

"All?"

"Is that all you want? You don't want me to summon... someone else?" The Commander studied her with eyes the colour of slate and shook her head, the only movement truly available to her anymore.

"No, Doctor."

"Aye, aye ma'am."


	2. Chapter 2

Clench fist, unclench fist. Stretch fingers out as far as they can go. Repeat twenty times. Switch hands. Repeat twenty times. Rest.

Shepard slumped back against her pillows, her hands tingling with invigorated circulation. It had been almost two weeks since she started work with Mohane, the salarian who had donned the cape of physical therapist for the wounded commander. He was, he explained, a survivor of the assault on Virmire. He regarded her with a strange mixture of hero-worship and medical professionalism that made him aggravating much of the time. He also insisted that Shepard spend more time sleeping, eating and resting rather then driving ahead at her exercises so she could get out of the damn hospital bed.

"If you push yourself too hard, you'll just wind up in this bed even longer." He'd pointed out this morning. He was frustrated with her, that much was evident from the way he rapidly blinked his huge eyes. The stripes of white that went down his nose and throat reddened, something like a human flush. He did that a lot.

"I can't stand another minute of this room." She insisted, slamming her fist on the bed weakly. It barely made a sound.

"We could get you a wheel chair, if you really need to get out of here." He'd volunteered.

She'd laughed at that. "Yeah right, like that's really an option." Commander Shepard in a wheelchair? She got the Hero of the Galaxy treatment enough without a heart-breaking injury to make her tragic too. No thank you.

He sighed, his throat flaming pink. Packed up and left, so Shepard was alone again as she was much of the time. She hadn't thought to allow any extra visitors and discouraged those that had clearance anyway. Doctor Chakwas and Liara came twice a day at least, to feed her because the nerves and muscles were still re-learning basic motor function and she was too clumsy to feed herself. To bathe her because she was too weak to take a shower. To... clean her because she couldn't even get to the bathroom. She found it all supremely humiliating, despite how desperately they tried to make it easier. She didn't want anyone to see her like this.

She closed her eyes. There was nothing more to do. She'd run through her exercises all morning, countless circuits of minute stretches that would rebuild her muscles bulk and memory. They were exceedingly boring in every way imaginable, but better than staring blankly at walls. She had never, in all her time on the ship, thought to upload any favourite movies, books or games into the computer system like some of the other crew members. They had brought some of her books but they were old-fashioned, sentimental memories of her parents that she'd never actually read. When she tried to handle them her arms and wrists rapidly tired from the weight. Her fingers fumbled the pages, making the whole experience more awkward. She abandoned the pursuit in disgust. They were probably all boring anyway.

The vids didn't interest her either, half of them being speculation regarding her mysterious sabbatical. It seemed that most of the galaxy thought she was dead. She almost wished she was. She culd feel pressure building in her bladder and doubted Liara or Doctor Chakwas would be back in time to help her to the bathroom. Her cheeks burned with preemptive shame.

Settling back Shepard closed her eyes with determination. Lately sleep had become her only respite from the crushing weight of reality, when it wasn't sprinkled with dreams. They had explained what had happened, that Kaidan had been mis-reported as MIA after he was wounded in one of the hundreds of minor skirmishes against the Reapers through the Keppler Verge. At the time, a bureaucratic status change had been low on the Alliance's list of priorities. He had just been officially upgraded to 'living' a week ago.

And yet, when she dreamt of Ash turning to stone and her long fall through darkness inhabited only by the ghosts of her victims he was always there, always benevolent and smiling faintly, and his face lingered beyond all the others, for what seemed like an eternity. There were fewer dreams without the morphine, but they never disappeared all together. She sighed, drawing air deep into her diaphragm and trying to clear her mind. Thinking about Kaidan before going to sleep was just inviting the nightmares. If she kept this up she would be chasing Kaidan through her dreams all day. And since she refused to let the real man see her, that would be very unfair.

At length, the lines of stress on her forehead smoothed, her breathing slowed and grew even. She slept, and thankfully did not dream.

*

"Come to try again, Alenko?" Wrex grumbled from his seat by the door. The krogan had been almost impossible to move for the last couple weeks, keeping close tabs on any who attempted to enter the medical centre. Every time Kaidan tried to get in, just to sneak a peek, make sure everything was okay, he was there, his scaled lips quirked in a wide grin as he rested his shotgun across his knees. "Are we going to do this every day?"

Kaidan hadn't like the krogan when he'd worked with him eight years ago and he didn't like him now. Even knowing that he probably thought he had Shepard's best interests in mind, Kaidan couldn't help but hate him a little bit as he stopped in front of the door. One hand in his pocket, he ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair and sighed.

"She's going to have to see me sometime, Wrex. She approved my addition to the crew for godsake." He put his other hand in his pocket, trying to glean some sort of emotion from the giant alien. No such luck, Wrex's eternal expression of bored amusement remained.

"Shepard's administrative mistakes are her own business. She doesn't have to see you until she wants to Alenko. And she's made it pretty clear she doesn't." Wrex settled back and promptly started ignoring him.

"What do you mean, her 'administrative mistakes'?" Kaidan asked, anger sparking in his cool hazel eyes.

"Maybe humans have different definitions of loyalty, but a krogan commander never would have let a crew member who jumped ship back on board. It's hard enough to trust someone the first time, the second time... well..." The krogan shrugged as though he didn't need to explain and Kaidan's anger burned hotter.

"You don't know me." He replied. "You don't know anything about me, or why I left."

"It's true I don't." Wrex replied, sounding annoyed as though Kaidan was dragging the conversation past its reasonable ending. "All I know is that you and the commander were close as soldiers could be, friends who ate together, lived together, fought together, lost friends and mourned together. This is the most noble bond two sentient beings can have. Then you left, walked away in the middle of a war. And when she says she doesn't want to see you I can't find any reason why I shouldn't enforce that request. With bullets."

The sudden sparkle of rage in Wrex's small, dark eyes took Kaidan by surprise. He wasn't used to the alien having any identifiable emotions. He swallowed, rubbed the back of his next. "I guess I get your point. I'll wait until she's ready." He paused. "Why do you care so much Wrex? You never seemed to care about anything before."

"She's a warrior, so am I. And besides," the krogan looked away, feigning boredom and casual distraction, "Shepard's my friend."

Kaidan paused, unsure of what to say. He didn't think he'd ever heard a krogan use that word before. He had never expected it to come out of Wrex, certainly. But then, Shepard and Wrex had been together through a lot. Ash had died, Garrus had gone back to C-Sec, Tali had finished her Pilgrimage and returned to her people and the flotilla. He had 'jumped ship'. The only two that had stayed for the whole war were Liara and Wrex, eight years of steady combat together. Of course they were friends. Of course Liara was avoiding him. Of course they hated him. How could they not?

"Will you tell her I want to see her though?" Kaidan asked.

"Maybe. When it seems like a good idea." There was a definite air of finality to his words.

"Thanks." Kaidan headed back toward the mess, studying his feet. The krogan had given him all too much to think about.

*

"Liara, the Normandy has an on-board locator. I know you're in there." Kaidan said, knocking at the door to the engine room again. He heard a dramatic sigh of irritation, and finally the door slid open and the slim asari emerged, giving him a look that could curdle vinegar. He had never given her much thought, after the confrontation in the comm room where he'd forced Shepard to pick between the two of them. There had never been rivalry, never been so much as mutual acknowledgement of each others existence. They had never even gone on a mission together.

But the emotions he saw simmering in her violet eyes were poisonous with their withering force. 'This woman really does not like me.' Kaidan thought as he straightened up, unsure of how he should approach this conversation.

"So I guess you probably agree with Wrex, when it comes to me." He tried. Her expression betrayed nothing beyond her initial distaste for him. She put down the tool box she had been carrying and wiped her hands on a grease rag.

"Wrex and I do not agree on much, but there are some things that even world views as different as ours can stand shoulder to shoulder on. Do I agree with everything he says? No, I do not. But he has the general idea down fairly well." She stepped out of the hallway onto the main floor. Their lockers were lined up neatly against the far wall, the Mako crouched across the room with a cloth tossed over it for the moment. The ramp was down, guarded by the two new marines Shepard had added to her crew. One of them, a small blond woman with a loud laugh had been doing most of his old work, but she shifted just as easily into repairing the weapons sensors and re-syncing the gun systems. She was relatively young, or so he'd thought until he realized she was a year older than him when he'd begun his career on the Normandy. But she was the only person who bothered to talk to him outside of a polite wave so he considered her a friend of sorts. Her companion today was the new Lieutenant, a tall man with silver in his black hair and beard, and biotic abilities that were impressive to say the least. They chatted as though unaware of the enormous age difference. The comradery of soldiers who trusted each other. No such love here.

"Look, I'm not going to ask you to forgive me." Kaidan started.

"There's nothing I need forgive you for." Liara replied mechanically. Kaidan frowned at her.

"Whatever. I just want to know how Shepard's doing. Wrex won't tell me anything, and I'm... worried." He knew it was a mistake the second he said it, but Liara controlled her obvious anger with expert finesse.

"You're worried are you?" She asked. "Shepard is doing well. She's surpassing her physical therapist's expectations and suffering no ill effects from the morphine. Aside from chronic boredom, all seems well at this point."

Kaidan blinked. "You actually told me." He said dumbly. She managed to smile.

"Yes, Kaidan, I actually told you. I... am angry. I do not understand why you did what you did. But I am willing to believe that you might have done it for some reason you believed was good. I am not Wrex, I don't hate people for their mistakes. But I am no longer naive either. There is no room for it in this world." She sighed, heading for the elevator, her shoulders rolling stiffly under her uniform.

"But don't expect me to become some sort of spy for you. She chimed over her shoulder as she waited for the elevator. "She said she doesn't want to see you, and she said it for a reason. I respect her decision." Kaidan nodded and looked away. The elevator came and then he was alone on the lower deck. After a moment, he headed back up to crew quarters and slept until his next shift.

*

"Liara." Shepard's call brought the asari from her office with a quizzical look on her face.

"Yes Shepard?"

"I hate to ask, but could you..." The commander hesitated, looked away. "Maybe..." There was an awkward pause before the asari understood what was happening. Even after all these years she'd never understood the human desire, no the desperate human need, to be completely independent at all times. Among her people such a request between friends like them would have been carried out with love and comfort. Helping Shepard relieve herself was painful for both of them, for Shepard because of the shame she felt and for Liara because there was nothing she could do to make it go away. When she had secured the woman back in her bed she paused, wondering if it was appropriate for her to ask questions such as the one that had been brewing in her all afternoon.

"Commander, can I ask you something? Something... personal?" She asked timidly. Shepard, who had been staring at the ceiling vacantly turned her grey eyes to Liara, a frown furrowing her brow.

"It's been a long time since you had to ask me if it was okay to ask a question." She said, pushing herself up on her elbows without too much trouble so she could readjust one of her pillows. She had a lot of energy today, but with no way to move about and release it, it inevitably dissolved into white noise and a short attention span.

"I don't-" Liara paused, realizing that she shouldn't finish her sentence. She didn't need to really, she saw it finish itself in Shepard's eyes. I don't want to upset you. I don't want to make you uncomfortable when you're so broken. Because I feel sorry for you, because I pity what has become of your body. "I don't want to presume." The cover didn't work, but it allowed their conversation to continue.

"What is it?"

"Why don't you want to see Lieutenant Alenko?" She started at the look that Shepard gave her, the apathy of her predicament swept away in a tempest of raw emotion. She looked away after a moment, unable to meet Liara's eyes.

"It's not that I don't want to see him." She replied. "I just... I don't want him to see me like... this." She gestured at the length of her withered frame under the thin sheets. "I don't want to see him feeling sorry for me."

Liara bit her lip, realizing just how painful her previous fumble must have been for her friend. She nodded her understanding and leaned forward, planting a kiss of love and friendship on the commanders brow. Not a sign of pity this, but a passing of good feelings and love from one being to another. Shepard understood. She had spent enough time around the asari to recognize the basic tenants of their remarkable culture.

"I don't think the Lieutenant is stupid enough to pity you." Liara whispered, squeezing her hand before she hurried out of the room. As the door slid shut behind her Shepard didn't dare believe what the asari said might be true. Kaidan was just like the others, she had convinced herself that this must be true. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Sleep came to distract her, as it always did.


	3. Flashback

After the War: Flash Back #1

The strange, turquoise-banded moon of the giant terrestrial planet Geros passed slowly overhead as the two soldiers crouched behind the boulders at the mouth of the valley. The night was very silent, Geros being one of the many worlds throughout the galaxy that was perfectly geared toward organic life but supported none of its own. The aggressive strain of Geth that prowled its surface were decidedly foreign. Occasionally their ear-buds would crackle with an update from Garrus, stationed above with his sniper rifle. Otherwise, absolute silence.

"What do you think makes the moon look like that?" Kaidan whispered, looking up at it. Shepard was peering carefully over the rocks, scanning the dimly lit compound they were watching. Whiskers, who was really Private Gordon Herman but known only by his nickname, was within, attempting to access the Geth data files that would reveal their communications with the approaching Reapers. Since the systems always fried themselves once all the Geth in the area were dead, they needed to get the files before the assault. Whiskers was the obvious choice, trained originally as a part of a failed military black ops program he was phenomenal at infiltration. Still, the silence of the radio grated nerves and made conversation tense.

"The bands come from cliffs of turquoise stone that span the entire length of the moon, from pole to pole." She answered.

"Ah. You surveyed it before we came down?"

"There was a few hours until it was going to be night on the right side of the planet. I needed something to do." She replied, peeking back over the stone. Whiskers had instructed them not to contact him while he was within. Kaidan joined her, trying to pick out any signs of motion or alert. Whiskers last update had come twelve minutes ago. He'd been instructed to provide an update every ten minutes, except in cases where it was impossible.

Being shot in the face was one of those cases. Kaidan found his own, unspoken attempt at black humour unfunny. He watched Shepard check the time on her omni-tool and huff irately. It was a sound he recognized instantly.

"It's time to go." She said. She unslung her pistol and Kaidan followed suit, straightening his armour and checking the connections while she gave crisp instructions for Garrus to advance and hold with his rifle until they reached the door. The turian was to provide cover for the two of them during their approach, in case they set off some sort of sensor. She nodded to him.

They advanced slowly over the grounds, skirting the pale illumination provided by the compound lights. The windowless brick of polished metal loomed silently above them, a menacing creature bereft of tooth or fang it sent an instinctual shiver down his back. Shepard ordered Garrus to advance, as they positioned themselves opposite each other beside the door, pistols at the ready.

"You really think he got caught?" Kaidan asked quietly as they waited. The turian wouldn't be long. They were much faster then humans, especially over rough terrain.

"I don't know." Shepard replied, which was a disguise for her cynicism. Shepard was never unsure of anything, stubborn and sure-footed in everything she did. He didn't draw attention to it, at least not this time. He knew, at an almost instinctual level, that she didn't want to be reminded of how well he knew her moods. This wasn't a situation where she would find it endearing.

He also didn't draw attention to the way she chewed the inside of her lip. It was nervous habit, one that he hadn't noticed when they first started working together. Then again, he rarely saw it. Shepard was rarely frightened of anything. He supposed it came from going toe-to-toe with a monstrous sentient machine. Looking back at it for him was almost like thinking about a dream. It was all so unreal to him, so distant from the reality he had known his entire life, so huge. Shepard didn't have the same problems as he did. All her focus went into the ever present terror of the imminent Reaper attack. She couldn't afford to distance herself from the crushing reality of it all.

Silence stretched, taunt and nerve wracking until Garrus appeared, melting out of the shadows at a brisk run. He had his assault rifle out and ready and Shepard approved with a nod. She turned to Kaidan and a look passed between them, a look charged with all sorts of emotions, trying to communicate feelings and sentiments that it would be against regulation to actually vocalize.

'Be careful.' Kaidan thought. She nodded the movement almost unseen and he broke eye contact to open the door. One after another they filed in, the thin red lines of their laser sights lost in the musty gloom.

*

She addressed the crew fifteen minutes after they arrived back on the Normandy, as she always did when they lost of their own. The speech was simple and strong, Private Gordon Herman had been killed while serving the Alliance, the human race and, in truth, the galaxy itself. His sacrifice will be honoured on the Wall of the Lost memorial being constructed back home on Earth, his loss would be greatly felt by all who knew him. Twenty minutes after they arrived back on the Normandy, Kaidan was at her door.

She appeared, almost at the same moment he knocked, which told him she had been expecting him.

"Lieutenant." She acknowledged him. She was leaning heavily on the door frame, exhausted. Her pale skin was grey with stress and grief. Losing marines hit her hard, it always had. No matter what else might be going on, no matter what the circumstances of the death, she grieved for each one at a level few commanders did. It was something he found very noble about her, something he respected and admired her for. It also made him sad.

"Just wanted to see how you're holding up, ma'am." He replied, upholding their charade of propriety. Whenever they were on mission they had to pretend that they were just friends, comrades in arms. It drove him crazy on so many levels. He felt it, of course, when he wanted to put his arm around her, kiss her, joke with her like they could off-duty. But he felt it more in times like these, where she stood before him in agony and he could not dare to breach protocol and offer her any more comfort than words could allow.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant." She replied. It wasn't a lie, or at least not one directed at him. There was nothing else she could say really. Sometimes he wondered why he even came, when there was never anything more they could do or say. This exchange had become almost a ritual for them now. He wanted her to know he was there, he knew she was in pain and he wanted to offer comfort. He hoped she understood. He thought she did.

"It wasn't your fault, commander. Whiskers wanted to go." He said, putting a hand on her shoulder. It was the most contact he could offer without violating anything and getting them both court marshaled. She put her hand over his and offered him a small, sad smile.

"I know." She answered. But that didn't make it any easier. And he knew that. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"No problem, commander." She disappeared back into her room and he stood in the hallway for a moment before heading down the stairs to crew quarters, where he sprawled on the bunk he shared in shifts with crewman Levi. He rolled onto his side and thought of the friend he'd lost today, as Shepard lay on her bed in the room above. Eventually, sleep came and carried away their solitary grief, if only for a little while.


	4. Chapter 3

After the War Chapter Three

"All systems running smoothly." Unger Bjorkland said, his keen, pale green eyes studying the glowing orange screens projected in front of him. "Fail safes in place, scans catalogued. She's ready to be taken out, commander."

"That's good, Bjorkland." The commanders voice was reassuringly strong and confident through his ear-piece, which was comforting. The young pilot had signed on after the previous Normandy pilot had died in the final assault, a chunk of debris had exploded from the from the crafts wings, which had torn off in the last stages of emergency landing, and pierced his throat. It was said the position was cursed, that the first pilot was the only one who could really handle the Normandy, and the posting killed or mentally crippled those less worthy. Unger Bjorkland was the sixth pilot to be assigned, and assumed the seat with confidence. He hadn't come so highly recommended, despite his age, for nothing. "Take her out slowly. Any sign of problems bring her back and we'll run a full systems and body diagnostic."

"Aye, aye ma'am." He answered, typing the proper start-up directions into the keyboard. The Normandy came alive, purring under his hands as though the extensive construction had never occurred. Bjorkland only felt that kind of smooth power in new ships, straight off the assembly line. He'd expected more creak and cough from a vessel like the Normandy, who was leaning on her mandatory ten year retirement. He grinned, and lifted the vessel from its secure grip on the planet underfoot. It exited the atmosphere without so much as a hiccough in the sensors and was soon free of gravity, soaring toward endless space.

"Good job." The commanders compliment was crisp and professional. He knew she was monitoring him extensively from the medical bay. She didn't really trust him yet. "Plot a course for Citadel, immediately."

"Already got it ma'am." The young pilot replied, glancing at the screen that outlined their journey. "ETA 59 hours, 17 minutes." The frontier worlds where most of the war had taken place, weren't littered with tested and secure mass-relays like the more populous systems. The ones here would need to be extensively examined and repeatedly tested before ships could begin using them.

"Very good. Contact me when we reach visual range."

"Affirmative." He replied promptly, settling back more comfortably in his seat. The ship was like a living thing under his hands, gliding through the frozen recesses of space with a sweltering power and strength that made him smile privately. Ships like this were piloted with art, not science.

"And Bjorkland?" The commander added, sounding like it was an afterthought on her part.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Get yourself a nickname, would you? Bjorkland makes it sound like I've got a bridge troll piloting my ship." She sounded amused.

"Ah, yes ma'am." He replied, grinning through the microphone. "Now that you mention it I think my grandfather might have been a bridge troll at that. You know what Earth is like."

"That'll be all." Shepard replied after a bit of static and jumbled sound that could not have been the commander disguising a laugh.

"Ma'am." The connection went dead and the cockpit was silent, save for the underlying rhythm of engine noise. He liked it this way, the machinery all working ceaselessly around him, allowing him to absorb the true magnificence of space. He had been born on Earth, been raised there. To him, space was still novel, still amazing. Kaidan had seen this wonderment in young soldiers before and he was sure he would see it again. But in the end, it always faded. At least as far as military life went. It had a knack for destroying the wonder of space, usually by filling it with death-lasers.

"How's it going, Lieutenant?" He asked, moving more fully into the room. He hadn't met the pilot yet, never being able to imagine the cockpit without Joker he'd just avoided it rather than face the reality that so much had changed. It was rapidly becoming impossible to escape any sort of reality though, so he figured this was a logical step. And it was always nice to get to know the man who was navigating you through a deadly infinity of frozen vacuum riddled with hazards. It inspired confidence.

"Uh, really well sir. No emergencies thus far." Bjorkland replied, readjusting his hands on the keyboard and rolling his shoulders. "All systems functioning."

"Good. I know Private Liberdade was worried about the patch we did on the hull." The other man leaned over, studying the screen where the hull readings popped up. "But I can see every things going fine."

"Lippy? Lippy thinks to much. And talks too much." Bjorkland replied. He glanced over at the older officer, as he continued to scan the multiple screens and their various readings. He was surprised, to most veterans of space flight the cockpit still appeared to be a confusing no-man's land of endless numbers and equations. It took a keen mind to keep track of that much complicated and vital machinery and theoretical math. Bjorkland thought that might explain why most commanding officers avoided the cockpit so determinedly. They understood the principles of space flight on paper, but seeing it in action rendered them helpless to comprehend it. Commanders didn't like being helpless.

"I used to co-pilot sometimes when I worked this ship before." Kaidan replied. "Why do you call her Lippy? I thought her name was J-something. Juliana?"

"Julieta, actually. But it's just a nickname. From what I gather, it comes from a time when Lieutenant Pierce called her Lippy Libby. She used to give him a hard time when he pronounced Liberdade without a Portuguese accent." The youth glanced over at him to see the Lieutenant giving him a quizzical look.

"Like I said, she talks a lot. I could tell you her life story from the moment she stepped on to the Normandy to now." He shrugged. "It gets annoying sometimes, but she grows on you. Pierce is almost as bad, but only when they're together."

"Have they served together a long time?" Kaidan asked. He'd been puzzled by the closeness he saw between the two marines.

"Dunno. They were together at their last posting, but they don't talk about it very much. Neither of them talks about life before the Normandy at all really." Bjorkland looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "I know they've both got Earth accents. That's usually a good reason not to probe to deeply into a persons origin story." He assigned the computer to do an extra security check on the engines, but everything was running perfectly. He patted the machine affectionately. He already knew they would get along splendidly.

Kaidan nodded, staring out the window at the passing stars.

"Did you say you served aboard the Normandy before?" Bjorkland asked. The other man turned back.

"Yeah. Eight years ago, when it was first starting out."

"Oh. OH!" Bjorkland turned and looked fully at him for the first time in their entire conversation. His face was a mixture of shock and keen interest that Kaidan recognized. It was common when people figured out that he had served during the time that Shepard was waging her near legendary battle with Saren. "I didn't realize. I mean people said but I-"

"People said what?" Kaidan asked.

Bjorkland shut his mouth quickly, but not quickly enough. He had the decency to look guilty as Kaidan continued to look at him expectantly.

"Well, sir, there's uh... been some... discussion. About you and the commander. Or at least, you and Wrex." He paused and checked over his shoulder before looking back at Kaidan. "Wrex... Wrex doesn't like you sir."

Kaidan had to laugh. And then he laughed harder as the kid's face assumed a look of embarrassed bafflement at his reaction to the news. "You don't have to tell me, Bjorkland. Wrex hasn't exactly been whispering it like a sneaky little secret." He gave the pilot a critical look in the wake of his amusement. "Which makes one person on this crew."

"Well, no one's acting like they KNOW what's going on." Bjorkland replied quickly. "But you know, it is a little weird that Shepard added you to the crew and then refused to see you. She's refused visitors in general, but she refused you by name. Or at least, that's what Wrex said. We just wondered why."

Kaidan sighed. He couldn't really fault people for wondering, though he wished Wrex had kept his big, scaly mouth shut about it in the first place. He didn't like being the centre of rumours and speculation. Knowing that it was going on made his skin crawl, as it was crawling now. And he couldn't very well, explain himself as Bjorkland was obviously expecting him to now. Clearing the air would mean revealing himself and Shepard guilty of breaking a whole host of regulations and he would never want to do that to her. Of course, his secrecy would probably just make the entire thing seem juicier to the apparently gossipy crew.

Thankfully, the ships computer's soothing female voice suddenly chirped over the intercom, summoning him to, of all places, the medical bay. Bjorkland was watching his face carefully, so Kaidan was careful to show no emotion. He smiled at the young soldier and turned to leave.

"Good luck with your new nickname, Bjorkland."

"Good luck to you too, Lieutenant."

'Cocky bastard.' Kaidan thought as he made his way to the stairs. 'But thanks. I'll probably need it.'

*

The hallway was mercifully empty of its krogan sentry, and unoccupied. Kaidan thanked whatever greater power there may or may not be that this was so as he tapped the glowing green panel that would allow him access. The door slid open noiselessly and he was greeted by the sight of Jane Shepard, propped up on pillows in her bed by the wall.

She looked better than the last time he'd seen her. But she wasn't still tripping on the edges of death, so that was to be expected. It had been almost a month and a half, a month and a half of occupying himself with the extensive repairs that were being made to the Normandy, a month and a half of trying not to think about her. She studied him with slate grey eyes and he almost wished he was back fixing a panel. Panels couldn't make you regret every moment of the past eight years. At least normal panels couldn't.

"Commander." He saluted.

"Don't patronize me." Her reply was cold, and he realized that what he'd just done was going to influence the rest of their conversation. Thoroughly. He wasn't exactly sure how, but the simple fact of it was undeniable.

"Ah, right. Sorry." He really was sorry, but his apology sounded pitiful. He approached her bed hesitantly, not wanting to upset her any further, but unable to tear himself from the urge to be closer to her. She stared back at him, seizing him up, deciding just what she was going to say.

She looked much more than eight years older. Her hair bore a single, solid stripe of white. Her face looked harder, more severe with the few wrinkles that were starting to make themselves known around her eyes and forehead. She was thin, almost frail, and very pale. But he still thought she was beautiful, as beautiful as she was when they were, dare he say it, young. He waited for her to speak.

"Did you have any questions about your assignment on the crew?"

THAT was not what he had expected. He hesitated a moment, not trusting himself to speak and screw himself again. Shook his head. She waited a moment longer. Then she sighed, and some of the anger leaked out of her. She had nothing to replace it with and just looked at him dully, a smile possessing no warmth whatsoever adorning her lips.

"What do you want from me?" She asked.

"From y... nothing! I don't want anything from you!" He insisted, horrified that he thought he'd wanted to make demands, wanted to act like she owed him something. He'd hoped that, despite everything, she would have thought better of him then that.

"Then why are you here?" She asked, lifting one thin hand to brush her hair out of her eyes.

He hesitated again, rubbing his hair in an effort to buy himself a moment to think. When he looked up he could not have read her face if his life depended on it. That was a strange feeling for him. It had always been so easy for him to see her for what she really was. It occurred to him for the first time that he might not know this woman anymore. That eight years was an ungodly long time to fight a war. He'd changed, after all, why wouldn't she? But his feelings for her hadn't changed, seeing her here now with consciousness in her eyes and animation in her face he knew that his feelings hadn't changed.

"Is it stupid to say I wanted to try and make things right?" He asked finally.

"Somewhat." She replied bluntly. "Naive, is maybe a better word."

"I'm not naive. I'm fully aware of what I did. And what it must have made you think." He studied her seriously. "Believe me, I know what kind of position you're seeing me from."

"You always knew me so well."

"I did. I do."

"You did." She sighed, rubbed her eyes with one hand. "I can't avoid you Kaidan. Truth be told, I don't even really want you off the ship. I know you can keep your mouth shut and shoot a gun, and if this is anything like it was last time I saved the galaxy those are exactly the kind of skills I need. But I don't want you to think that you have the liberty of working out whatever issues you feel need to be worked out with me whenever you want. I closed the book on whatever it was we were a long time ago. I recommend you do the same."

Those were exactly the words he had thought would sink him. But when he actually heard them, they barely touched him. Because she was lying. And he knew it. He did know her, know this her, though how well he couldn't say. He nodded anyway, because this was not a situation in which she would find how well he knew her to be endearing.

"Understood Commander." He intoned.

"But I swear, if you salute me I will eviscerate you with my crutches." She motioned to the sinister looking things that were leaning against the walls by her bed. They did indeed look threatening. And she was still, definitely lying.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Commander."


	5. Chapter 4

After the War Chapter Four

** This Chapter contains strong language.**

Coming ashore was like stepping onto an alien world, full of strange flavours and customs she didn't understand. She'd walked the streets of the Citadel more times then she could count. All during its reconstruction from Sovereign's attack she had helped its various inhabitants rebuild their lives as well as their home. It had become the closest thing to 'home' she had. She'd even rented an apartment here, overlooking the false lake of the Presidium and the Krogan Monument. But she felt like a stranger to it now.

The crutches dug into her armpits until her arms tingled, but she'd flat out refused to come ashore in a wheelchair. She would not pitied, not be coddled for being a cripple of the war. Sympathy was better spent on the families of the dead, or those that hadn't been tended to by an army of expert salarian surgeons and would bear scars for the rest of their lives because of it. She didn't want any special treatment, was determined to refuse it, even if it meant upsetting Mohane so thoroughly that his throat went crimson.

The attention she received was not what she expected. Flanked by Liara and Wrex, both of whom kept an eye on the crowds and a hand on their weapons, she had hobbled the length of the station, right to the stairs of the Citadel. The Council had agreed to meet her there, and not make her face the impossibility of the many sweeping staircases that led to their formal audience hall. As she made her way, awkwardly picking out every step with her crutches, people treated her like a God. Flowers were thrown at her feet by weeping women of every creed imaginable. Parents held their children out for her touch. Hands reached to feel the slightest brush of her uniform, her hand, even her crutches, and were barely scared away by her imposing guards and their scowls. Even after Sovereign there had never been this kind of reaction to her presence. She heard a reporter refer to her as the greatest hero in galactic history.

And maybe she was. She'd stopped the Reapers, something that had never been done before. The Reapers had devoured powerful empires and galactic alliances for hundreds of thousands of years and one woman was credited with stopping them, with holding back the unstoppable foe and destroying them. Even if she was the greatest hero in galactic history, even if everything they said about her was true, she was still sickened by this display. She could think of a thousand other people who deserved this kind of honour if not in life than in their death. Thousands of marines had died to protect these people, but they chose to honour the one that had just happened to come back alive. She wanted to scream at them. But instead she pretended to smile.

By the time they reached the Council stairs her arms were trembling and sweat was visibly beading her face. She accepted for the first time that this was probably a little over-ambitious, but she didn't regret it. She couldn't have imagined what people would have done if she'd been in a wheelchair. They probably would have picked her up and carried her to the Council.

"Welcome home, Commander." Captain Anderson smiled at her as she halted before the four members of the Citadel Council. It was funny, despite the fact Anderson headed the Council and had for almost a decade now didn't stop him from eternally being 'Captain' in her mind. She smiled back at him, genuinely glad to see someone for the first time in what felt like a long time. There had been Kaidan, but being glad to see him had come with its own special pain. This, at least, was guiltless.

"Glad to be back. Looks like you guys have been keeping the place clean without me. I'm out twenty credits." She grinned at them, straightened slightly and tilted her chin up. Her shoulders trembled very little as she made her report.

"The last of the Reaper Fleets have been destroyed, sirs." She could not salute, and they soundlessly relieved her of the need with the looks in their eyes. She remembered the first time she'd stood before the Council, a different Council that had died in the belly of a giant ship at her order, and how large and important they had seemed then. These people were wise, good people that deserved their post but it was beyond her to feel wonder anymore. They were just people. But she delivered the formal words anyway. "I hold my mission as complete."

"It is complete." The asari Councillor acknowledged. "We, and all the people of this galaxy, thank you for your services."

"I was just doing my job." Shepard replied, shaking her head at the spark of wonder that had started to grow in the woman's eyes when she looked at her. The last thing that she needed was the most powerful figures in the galaxy looking up to her. Next thing she new they'd be electing her to the damn Council and then the whole place would really start coming apart.

"What are you planning to do now, Commander?" The salarian Councillor asked.

She managed to shrug.

"I figure I'll get a drink. Maybe hit the clubs." A ripple of laughter. She could have killed herself. Posing as this strong, flippant creature that could accept the weakness of her legs, accept this crippled, rebelling body and not feel despair. It was stupid. Everyone knew she was broken, and no amount of loud talk was going to disguise it.

The Council made some other manner of small speeches about the other people that had happened to die while Commander Shepard was out there being a god-like hero. She didn't listen. They couldn't say anything about the tragedy of so many lost lives and the horrors of the fanatical war they had just somehow managed to win that she hadn't already thought of. To these people those soldiers were a nameless entity, an ideal creature. The soldier that died for the galaxy would be cried for, be cherished and honoured. Bar fights would break out over careless words, people would be honoured and victimized in their names. But no one here had known those people. No one had stood with them, laughed with them, grieved with them. They didn't know those soldiers that had died for the galaxy but Shepard did. And her mourning felt like it would never end.

Her shoulders were burning from the strain of balancing most of her weight between them ontop of the crutches by the time they were done. She almost stumbled, but Wrex caught her, doing an expert job of hiding the motion behind his enormous, armoured bulk.

"Are you going to make it, human?" There was a challenge in his voice, like there was every time she hesitated or faltered. She grinned at him.

"Don't worry, Wrex. At least with me this slow now, you'll be able to boost your numbers and see if you can overtake my Geth-killing total."

"What was it last time?" The krogan asked as she started hobbling toward the car that Anderson had arranged.

"I dunno. Four thousand something." She replied as they reached the vehicle. She handed Anderson her crutches one by one before he helped her climb into the backseat beside him. Liara got in next, and the krogan headed around to the front of the car to get in beside the driver. When he sat down, bringing the car down a good three inches with his weight he was typing at his omni-tool. He grinned.

"I've already beaten you, Shepard. Five thousand seven hundred and twelve." He grinned.

"Oh, you liar." She replied. He said nothing, just turned to stare out the front window. She glared at the back of his head before turning to Captain Anderson. He was smiling at her, as though this was the first time he was really seeing her, as though the entire ceremony before just hadn't happened at all. She loved him for it, like the father she'd never really had. They embraced then, without any awkwardness.

"I missed you." She whispered. They parted.

"I missed you too, Jane." He settled back to into the seat as the driver pulled away from the curb. Although she knew that this car was flanked by two others stuffed with armed guards, it was easy to feel almost normal in this small space with friends.

"So what's next?" She asked, getting down to business. He thought for a moment.

"Well, we can get you that drink you wanted. Then dinner, I suppose. Conversation." She blinked. That sounded so... easy. Anderson turned to Liara and Wrex. "You two are welcome to join us, or take your leave if you'd rather spend the evening your own way. Liara elected to stay and Wrex grunted before asking the driver to let him out at the corner. He left the car with a wave and no words, which was his way. Anderson stared after him.

"Not to friendly is he?" He asked. He had no real feeling for the krogan himself, but he Shepard smiled affectionately.

"He has his ways. But as much as I would love to have dinner with you Captain, I was thinking more... long term." She studied him carefully as he turned away from the window to look at her.

"Well, there will be medals to be presented to you and your crew of course." She started to groan loudly, as though in pain. "I know you hate getting medals. But you're getting another Star of Terra, which makes your total five by the way, as well as the Turian Hrellen, which is some spiky symbolic knife which might make you a physical manifestation of their god."

"No, more like a chosen vessel, that carries within it all the best elements of the four turian avatars of God." Liara corrected. "Humans would, I suppose, call it a prophet. But without the oracular properties traditionally associated with the title."

"Right, that. The asari haven't announced what honour they'll give you yet, but there's been some wild notions floating around. The sort of honours you'd normally have to be asari to receive. The volus are even getting in on it, with the Helm of Vol, which they're augmenting to fit you. You'll probably have a month of appearance-making and award-receiving to go through."

Shepard groaned again, louder. Anderson grinned.

"If you didn't want to get medals, you shouldn't have gotten into heroing." He chided lightly.

"I wasn't aware that's what they're calling navy work these days. When I signed up we called it 'being a soldier.'" She replied bitterly. She better get her legs to shape up quick. She didn't know how long she'd be able to bear the crutches while people tried to pin medals to her uniform. She the day she might meet the President and need to wear all the goddamn bits of metal people had been pining on her lately. She didn't think she had enough room anymore.

"Anyway, that's what's planned for now." Anderson said, not missing her bitterness but choosing not to comment.

"What about my next mission?" She pressed, wanting to know exactly when and how she could get out of here and thereby force it through as fast as possible.

"Damn it Shepard, calm down! You'll get another mission, we're not retiring you. But you've got to heal. You can't go clearing the Geth out of the frontier systems or exploring newly discovered planets when you can't... can't walk by yourself." He tried to make the last part gentler, less crushing, but there was little he could do to make such a statement anything but devastating, despite its obvious truth. Awkward silence consumed what had once been the companionable stillness of the car.

"I'm sorry." She said finally. "But I don't want any of this, Captain. I never wanted to be a hero. I didn't do all I did just so I could get more Stars or some spiked turian knife. I did what I had to do, nothing more. I'm not a hero. Just a soldier. And that's all I want to be."

"Well it's not up to you. The galaxy needs role models right now, needs someone we can all look up to, who unites us with strength and ethic rather than false charisma and lies like a politician. I know you don't like it, but it's something you have to do. Consider it an order if that makes it easier."

She looked at him levelly, noting the changes eight years had wrought upon him. He was a politician now. A better one then most, or at least less transparent, but a politician. She didn't love him any less, there was no way she could drop him when what he said made so much sense, but she trusted him less. After a moment, she sighed and nodded heavily. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now let's go eat."

They did.

*

"What about Yorkie?" Private Liberdade suggested. She was studying Bjorkland pointedly, trying to find a name for him. Usually it would seem that a man would enjoy the attention of such a pretty woman. But the pilot knew better. Anytime the attentions of Julieta Liberdade flickered to him, he grew instantly cautious.

"Yorkie?" He asked, picking at the dinner the Normandy's synthesizers had created for him. His steak had the texture of a cat's tongue, and he rapidly lost interest.

"Yeah, you know because you're name goes B-york-land." She said, mangling the nordic pronunciation with her Portugese accent. "And you yap-yap-yap like little dog."

"First of it's not B-y-o-r-k like in English, it's B-j-o-r-k like in Norwegian. And second, I find it hard to understand how someone who punched her senior officer in the back of the head for daring to pronounce her name like he wasn't straight from Portugal can so flippantly butcher mine without a hint of irony." He replied.

"Brazil, not Portugal, dumb dog." She laughed. "Dumb dog maybe? Since you don't like Yorkie?"

"I am not going to tell the Commander that the nickname I've chosen for myself is 'Dumb Dog', Lippy." Bjorkland reached for his glass. At least water was still normal in space.

"You're no fun."

"I'm so sad for you."

Kaidan had been sitting a few seats down from them while he ate, half-listening to their conversation. He was grinning now. He had come to like the new crew members, feel at least somewhat comfortable with them. He was especially fond of Private Liberdade, or Lippy as he now felt free to call her. Something about the strange little woman fascinated him at the same time as her unabashed obnoxiousness made her grate the frayed ends of his last nerve.

"What was it that the Commander said you sounded like, Bjorkland? A bridge troll? Maybe you should use that." He put in as he finished the last of his dinner.

Bjorkland shot him an unamused look. "Pilot Bridge Troll?" He asked.

"No!" A grin split Lippy's tanned face, making her light up. "Troll! That's perfect. Troll the pilot." She laughed loudly.

"My nickname is NOT Troll." Bjorkland snapped, glaring at her as she held her stomach and rocked with mirth.

"Yes it is. I say so. And Alenko does too." She grinned at him, approving. Seeing her approval, he thought that he might owe Bjorkland an apology. But the look of utter dismay on his face as Lieutenant Pierce walked by with a 'hey Troll' and a wave was too much. He joined the private in her laughter until the pilot had turned away with a sulk.

"I think we hurt his feelings." He said.

"I can't help it." Lippy replied, grinning. "Troll makes it so easy."

Kaidan shook his head and left her, sorting his garbage into the proper recycling containers before depositing his dirty tray with the towering pile. When the ship was in dock, such mundane tasks tended to fall behind. No one wanted to stay on the ship longer than they had to, even to do something as simple as put the dirty trays in the washer. He didn't want to do it either though, so he headed through the door, out into the maze narrow hallways of the docked spaceship. He wandered, not really thinking about anything in particular, not aimed anywhere specific. It didn't surprise him when he turned a corner and realized that he had been heading toward Shepard's door all this time.

He hesitated. Probably best not to disturb her. She must have had a hard time yesterday. He'd seen the vids, detailing her long trek to the Council steps. The shots of the weeping women and fawning crowds had made him cringe inwardly for her. She hated that bullshit, always had. For a centerpiece of galactic culture, she was remarkably introverted. He was getting ready to turn around and leave when he heard a muffled thump and cry of pain.

He was through the door without even realizing what he was doing, no knocking or even a call out, looking for her. She lay on the floor, swearing quietly as she struggled to stand. She'd evidently unbalanced and fallen while trying to put her bra on. He stood for a moment, gaping, trying to decide whether he should offer her help or not. She looked up at him, studied his face for a moment.

"Enjoying the show, Lieutenant." It sounded wry and half-way amused despite the host of reasons she could have used to excuse decapitating him on the spot. He shut his mouth so quickly his teeth clicked.

"Uh! Sorry!" He gasped, turning around. He should just run. It was possible he could get away, be out of the Citadel and on some blood-and-elbow-grease colony on the fringes of civilized space before she found him. He could hide. But she just laughed.

"Come on, Alenko. It's nothing you haven't seen before. Give me a fucking hand, already." He turned around and bent down, pulling her arm over his shoulders and trying not to look. He helped her over to the bed, where she sat rubbing one shoulder absently. She looked back at him. "You can get me a shirt, if you want to be helpful."

He did. This was turning out to be a much less painful experience then he expected. Then again, he would have been dead by now if it had been as bad as he thought it might be. She pulled the shirt on, though her breasts still stood out distractingly, unbound under the tight-fitting shirt. There was silence for a moment.

"So. Did you have a reason for bursting into my private quarters so dramatically? Or do you just have an untold flair for theatre?" She asked.

"Oh! Oh no. I mean ah, I heard something. I thought... I don't know what. Something bad had happened." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. She stared at him, trying to see through his face and down into his soul. He knew that face. It came when she was trying to figure out whether she could be honest with him. He wasn't used to it, but that was only because he'd never given her a reason to use it when they'd been together. His leaving had been what did it.

Evidently, she decided she couldn't.

"While I'm fine. Dismissed, Lieutenant." She looked away from him pointedly. He didn't move. She looked back. "I said, dismissed."

"We're off mission, you know." He said softly. "The vids made that much clear. Your mission is over. The Normandy is docked. We can talk about... things. Without it being against regulations."

She continued to stare at him, emotions tumbling over themselves in the wells of her silvery-grey eyes. She finally sighed, and shuffled over a little on the bed, inviting him to sit down. "I guess we'd better."

He sat, slowly and tentatively. She was chewing the inside of her lip, her fingers folded in her hand. Their arms were almost touching, but she shifted her weight away to prevent any actual contact. He took a deep breath, feeling like a little kid, about to admit some big, terrible lie. I ate the last cookie, Commander. It was me.

"I still love you." He said finally.

She slapped him.

It stung worse than any slap he'd ever suffered, not just for its emotional burden. She was certainly getting her strength back. His eyes watered as his cheek tingled.

"Where do you get the gall to say that, you son of a bitch?" She hissed. She looked like she could spit poison if she really wanted to.

"I do." She tried punched him this time, but he saw it coming, and she struck only a glancing blow. The next time she tried he caught one wrist, than the next and held her arms out to either side. He could feel her arms tremble as she fought to continue hurting him. Her eyes burned into him.

"Fuck you." She snarled. He couldn't remember having ever seen her so angry. "You have no right to say that to me! Do you understand that? You have no right to come back here and just expect everything to be fine, like you can make it better with those words."

"That's not what I'm trying to do. I know its not enough, I know I can't make up for what I did. But I have to be honest. I love you, I've always loved you. Even when I left, I loved you. Always you, only you." He paused. She looked at him.

"What am I to you Kaidan?" The violence had gone out of her struggles and she just stared at him, confused, scared. Unsure. He had never seen her like this. He had never wanted to see her like this.

"Everything." He answered, simply.

She kissed him.

He let go of her arms, which snaked around his neck, pulling them closer together. His arms wound around her waist and pulled them closer still. She was certainly getting stronger, her fingers locked tightly in the locks of his thick dark hair and her mouth opened, her tongue darting out, desperate for more. It was all he could do to reciprocate, opening his mouth, dancing his tongue out to meet hers. He could feel her pressed up against him. His hand ran down her back, danced along the lip of exposed skin between her shirt and pants.

He could feel heat building up, some fundamental fire that had gone out when he left her rekindled by their closeness. It grew hotter, filling him as they pressed closer, their kiss getting wetter, warmer, more consuming. She pressed in on him like she was trying to devour him from the mouth down and he pressed back, his entire being aching for her, for more, more, more.

Suddenly the kiss broke. Shepard reared back, covering her mouth with one hand. Her eyes filled with renewed anger and then grew wet. He realized she was crying and froze, shocked.

"Get out." She ordered.

He hesitated.

"Get OUT!" She screamed.

He left.


	6. Flashback 2

After the War: Flashback #2

You would never have guessed that anyone lived in the apartment that Shepard had rented in the Presidium. It was positioned high above the false lake and to the right of the Krogan Monument, the south wall composed of six seamlessly interlocked floor-to-ceiling plates of glass. The floors were turian amberwood, highly polished until they shone like precious stone. The high vaulted ceilings made the entire place echo with every tiny sound. It was an imposing piece of architecture, made all the more intense by its complete lack of furnishing. A single plate and bowl occupied the otherwise barren shelves. A pot and frying pan hung in the rack over the breakfast bar, where a single high-backed chair was pulled up. A extranet terminal was set up in the corner of the otherwise empty living area. The bedroom was occupied by a double-bed in austere white sheets. A blanket of coarse, hand-spun brown fibre was thrown over it at the moment. The bathroom was clean and stream-line, a glass-doored shower stall and ornate vanity sink occupied by a toothbrush and bar of hard white soap. She apologized for the emptiness between bouts of uncontrolled gagging and omitting.

"Sorry, I'm not used to entertaining." She said with a feeble smile, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. The turian flu wasn't anything serious, most humans were actually immune to it entirely. A few days of mild fever, nausea and sensitivity to light and everyone else was able to shake it off. Shepard was in her second day, and beginning to get sick of telling him that she was fine and didn't want him to ruin his shoreleave. Which was good, because he was getting sick of telling her to forget it, and that he wasn't going anywhere. "And I don't think any of my clothes will fit you."

Kaidan sighed and attempted to wipe the last traces of vomit out of his pants. He had no success and finally accepted that he was going to have to wash them. As Shepard leaned back against the wall, her arms folded over her stomach and her fever-glazed eyes looking up at him, amused. She'd apologized profusely for puking on him, but failed entirely in her attempts to conceal how funny she found it. The fever delirium had loosened up a lot of her usually severe composure.

"I guess I'll have to use your washing machine." He sighed, undoing his belt. She whistled lowly and hooted in the back of her throat.

"Slowly, slowly. You don't rush moments like this." She laughed. Her smile froze and a moment later she was back at the toilet, dry heaving in giant gasps that shook her entire form. He came up behind her and rubbed her back gently as she heaved emptily into the porcelain bowl. Finally she looked up, studied him levelly. "I can't help but notice you still have your pants on."

He laughed. He liked this side of her, so often hidden under the enormous pressures that came with her status and reputation. He carefully peeled down the zipper of his pants and shimmied out of them. She grinned at him as they dropped around his ankles. "Maybe you should wash all your clothes. You know, since I got your pants... sticky."

"Go get into bed." He told her gently. "I set up a bucket."

"Awww." She made a sad face. "No gratuitous nudity?"

"I'll meet you there." He replied, he pulled her to her feet and she grinned, kissing him lightly on his cheek. He grimaced. "First you better wash your teeth."

He left her in the bathroom, doing just that, and went to the concealed nook where the machines were stacked ontop of each other. When he was naked and the machine was purring soapily he stopped and stared out the wide windows. In the bedroom the wide shutters had been pulled to protect Shepard from the eternal daylight of the Presidium. Here an entire wall opened up to the sweeping majesty of the reconstruction. He looked around the empty apartment with its utilitarian lack of personality and thought of how nice it would be to get some comfortable couches and chairs, hang some colour on the walls, throw some rugs down. This could be a home, if someone wanted it to be.

He turned and went back into the bedroom, to find Shepard strapping herself into her armour. She hadn't eaten in two days and her weight had dropped at the sudden deviation from the strict high-nutrient diet provided by the Normandy's food synthesizers. Her armour hung loose on her slim frame. He frowned.

"Don't tell me a I got nude for nothing." He sighed.

She looked back up at him, bit her lip regretfully.

"Sorry." She really did look sorry, very sorry. "Anderson just called me. He needs me Kaidan."

"You're sick." He pointed out, his lip curling. "Turian flu might not be deadly, but you shouldn't be up and about."

"Well, the world doesn't wait for you just because you're sick." She replied, her face assuming its hard-edge, stubborn lines. "I have responsibilities."

"To who? You're a Spectre! You don't answer to anyone but the Council, and you can't tell me that Anderson isn't going to try and saddle you with some Alliance errand like he always does. The Council calls you for an emergency, Anderson calls you when he needs a favour."

She didn't say anything, just stared at him stonily, her face unmoving and bleak. He stared right back at her.

"I have a responsibility to everyone. To the galaxy, whether the Alliance or the Council gives it to me. I am a servant of the rest of the universe." She pulled the final straps tight, righted the breast plate and raised her chin. Her fever flushed cheeks grew redder still under his scrutiny.

"What about your responsibilities to me?" He asked. He hated how plaintive it sounded, how sad and lonely. But he didn't want her out, her shotgun over her shoulder saving the world. She was sick and off-mission for a mandatory 92 hours after three months of service. It was his time. He was supposed to have his turn with her now.

"The galaxy comes first." She replied. "I thought you understood that."

"I do." He insisted. "I really do. But I want more sometimes Shepard. Can't you understand that?"

"Of course I do." She replied, pulling her weapons on and sighing deeply, her eyes regarding him with mournful longing. "But it doesn't matter what you want or what I want. What we want will never matter as much as what the galaxy wants, what the galaxy needs. The vids call us heroes but we're just slaves, pawns of the people above us. That's the only way it can ever be."

He sighed, shook his head and sat down on the bed.

"I'll be waiting for you." He promised. "Right here. Hurry home."

She smiled then, a ray of beauty out of the lustreless black shine of her armour and guns. Her face was the immaculate image of love that gazed out of the Madonna in her ancient portraits. "As fast as I can." She promised.

While she was gone he went on the extranet. By the time she got home, so exhausted she could barely stand with a fever of a hundred and one he had filled the apartment with furniture, bought a full set of dishes and glasses and his clothes were clean and dry. She smiled so beautifully, so gratefully and held him close for a moment.

"The last time I had a home was Mindoir." She whispered, and fell asleep standing in his arms.

((A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all the positive responses and encouragement. I threw that first chapter up as a second thought and I'm glad so many people like it. I definitely plan to extend this a little bit further. There will probably be two more chapters after this one, another flashback and a concluding chapter. What do you guys think of the new crew members? Do you want to see more or less of them? Let me know what you think in the comments.))


	7. Chapter 5

After the War Chapter Five

After Kaidan had left, Shepard sat on her bed, hands balled into fists so tight the knuckles turned white. Tears streaked down her face and she fought desperately to stop them, with no success. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. It might have been Mindoir, and that had to have been over a dozen lifetimes ago. A million. She started doing her exercises compulsively, anything to get a handle on her raging emotions. The methodical flexing and unflexing of muscles calmed her and eventually the tears relented and stopped entirely. The rage remained, however, and underneath that a thick and abiding hurt.

Shepard had never been able to face how terribly Kaidan had hurt her with his sudden disappearance. It was unlike anything she'd ever known.

There had been the first big loss, her parents, but she'd hated them. Hated her mother for keeping her head down and bearing all life's sorrows with her long suffering prayers and pointless proverbs, and hated her father for creating those sorrows with his heavy hand and biblical temper. She'd prayed and prayed for him to die, even though the priest assured her it meant she would go to hell. The vindication she had felt when she stood over his body, trying to look sad for the gathered mourners had been like cold steel, making her stronger. She had left her home, the beautiful hot summers and elegant icy winters for the stars soon after that and rarely looked back. It was Mindoir she missed, the pass of seasons, the rain and snow and heat of the sun, not her parents.

After that, there had been friends. Mentors. Lost to time, or distance, or the many jagged deaths of war. There had been losses and she had felt them and grieved. There was nothing weak in grieving, no matter what the most loud and arrogant of testosterone-charged cannon-fodder might think. But the pain of Kaidan leaving had cut her to the bone, right down to the very marrow. She'd shut that part of herself off, left it behind in the face of the greater needs of the time. There had been many. It had been so much easier to let herself be numb.

His return had undone all of that. There was no greater need she could bury herself in, no towering emergency that needed her personal attention. Bed-ridden she had rolled in the pain she felt, the betrayal. Tried to hate him, and failed and hated herself for failing. Her anguish bloomed like a bloody flower at his untimely return.

Her breath was coming fast and she felt a deep burn in her legs. She had been furiously doing her exercises as she thought back to what was happening and lost track of her own body. She eased down abruptly, rubbing the over-exerted muscles as she laid back down on the bed.

The worst part was, even with all this anger, this hurt and distrust boiling within her, raising her temper any time he drew near she still ached for him. Her skin burned with the aftermath of his touch. She ran her tongue over her chapped lips, tasting him there. Growling with frustration she crawled under the blankets, all thoughts of going anywhere banished with this new development. Between the burn in her muscles and the fire wakened by Kaidan's touch it felt like she was running a fever.

For the first time she faced the fact that she might not be able to avoid this any longer. There would have to be some sort of action taken, one way or another, to decide how things were ultimately going to stand. Either they both needed to figure out this strange bond that still existed, mutated and ugly but unerringly present, and find a way to cope or Kaidan would have to find some other ship to haunt. Against all rational thought, the idea of his leaving made her sad. She didn't want him to go, even though it would make so much more sense. She sighed miserably. Nothing in life had ever felt so utterly stupid.

She tried to sleep for a while, but there was no hope of banishing thoughts of Kaidan. She thought about getting up but couldn't find a point to it. What would she do? Hobble about on her crutches? Her legs were so sore, she wouldn't last more than fifteen minutes. Go down and try to shoot the shit with Liberdade and Pierce? She wasn't a part of their world and her presence would only make them uncomfortable. Her guns were clean, her armour was in good repair. Everything in the world just kept on ticking by, and she felt like she had fallen out of existance. There was no where to go, there was nothing to do. All she had ever known was how to be a soldier.

Utterly alone, Shepard pulled a pillow over her face and cried again, for what seemed like a very long time.

*

Kaidan couldn't stay on the Normandy.

Not stopping to grab anything he stormed directly to the airlock and out into the wide boulevards of the Citadel, seeking something, anything that could distract him. He almost bowled over Private Liberdade, who had been leaning over vomiting loudly into a garbage can. She looked up at him and her eyes brightened.

"Pierce! It's Alenko!" The mans bearded face appeared from around the corner and offered a cheerful smile. His greeting was lost in another bout of noisy heaving from the small Brazilian trooper. She stood up with a sigh, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and gave him a look that was hazy with alcohol.

"What are you two doing?" He asked. Pierce wasn't half as drunk as Liberdade, but the man had a legendary alcohol tolerance and was nearly twice her size so that was understandable. Liberdade shrugged. They were both dressed civilian, Liberdade in the slinky dresses barely stretched over the most important areas of modesty, Pierce in a three piece suit of Earth design.

"We just got kicked out of Flux." She replied. "We look for a new bar, yes?"

"You got us kicked out, I think you mean." Pierce's thick Ukrainian accent was a start to Kaidan. The man talked so infrequently around him that he had barely noticed it before. Now he spoke with a thick blurring of syllables that even Kaidan found somewhat difficult to follow. "You should listen when I tell you things. If you listened to me we wouldn't be barred from the place."

"If I listened to you, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere with the asari." Liberdade replied, grinning wolfishly at him. She tapped at her omni-tool, which appeared above her arm and clashed horrendously with her casual dress and demeanor. A phone number projected itself in the air. "Doing it my way, I get her phone number."

"I don't even know why you like the asari so much." Pierce grunted.

"Oh that's easy." Liberdade replied, flipping her hand dismissively. "Because they put out."

Pierce grunted in a way he recognized. It was a common sound that meant there was no longer any point in pursuing the topic at hand with the small blond Brazilian woman. Most everyone had some variation of what Troll had taken to calling the Liberdade Grunt. She recognized it to, and made a rude gesture in his direction. Kaidan laughed lightly.

"Going to head down to Chora's Den then?" He asked. Pierce sighed, as though he wished that he had mentioned any bar other than that one.

"We SHOULD. But Pierce, he is to pure for it." Liberdade sighed, flipping her hand in its familiar dismissal of his weirdness. Kaidan shook his head.

"I think a new one opened up in the Presidium. Though that's more of a lounge then a bar." He turned to leave, raising a hand to wave goodbye. Liberdade looked sad to see him going, but raised a hand in response.

"Tchau, Lieutenant."

"Tchau, Private." He was careful to pronounce it properly. Like everyone else on that ship, he'd learnt that it wasn't worth it to ignore the careful nuances of Portuguese pronunciation around the Private.

As Kaidan headed up, through the markets that offered nothing of particular interest and into the Presidium his thoughts wandered. He could have identified with Shepard's reluctance to attempt to integrate herself with her younger crew members. They were young military, still fresh with habits from boot-camp. Even Pierce was new, a Lieutenant because of talent, not experience. He felt nothing in common with them, despite the nearly identical fashion they lived most of their lives. They were navy friends. Shoreleave was their time to get away from him and the nuances of strict military life. He had no place among them.

He wandered for hours, up and down and in circles around the wide artificial lake. He longed to be away from here. The Citadel was huge, a city that floated through space, but Kaidan felt utterly alone. There was not a person in the world who wanted him around, and the only person he wanted was the least likely to call him up for a drink. He missed Ash. He longed for Shepard. Memories came and went as he travelled familiar stretches of the station. Even with the constant fear, the horror and pressure of those times chasing Saren across the galaxy those had been the good days. He sighed, leaning against the railing that skirted the elevated boulevard he had been exploring. His head hung. He was utterly alone, he realized for the first time. There was no place for him in this world, nowhere he belonged outside of a suit of armour and the battle field. And his joints had started aching, his bones creaking as he got on in life.

Soon he wouldn't be a soldier anymore, and he feared that day more than he let anyone know. It would be the end of him. There was nothing more.

He didn't cry, but he came close. His father would be ashamed of him, ashamed to see how thoroughly he had managed to poison everything good in his life. Then again, parents were usually proud to see their children follow in their footsteps weren't they? So maybe dad would have been proud after all. Kaidan had learnt how to screw up from the best of them. Caught in melancholy thought and speculation Kaidan lingered in the Presidium for hours, until he was so tired there was no option but to return to the Normandy for sleep. It was a temporary distraction, but that was all distractions really. Eventually the face of reality loomed. It always did.

*

"I hope you can understand our position." The asari councillor looked down at her with the kind of soft-eyed sympathy that Shepard was tired of getting angry over. Nothing she did would get people to stop looking at her with that sour cocktail of pity and reverence so she might as well ignore it. She did.

"Of course I do." She replied, her voice strong. "It was nice of you to hold out on it this long. What happens now?"

"The Normandy will be retired, and probably enshrined in some museum somewhere." The turian councillor replied briskly. "The crew will be reassigned, to excellent positions like all of your former crew members I'm sure. As for you, I'm sure any position in the Council or the Alliance would be open to you. The possibilities are endless."

Shepard nodded. Any position except active duty, the only thing she knew, the only thing she was any damn good at. The Councillors discussed when a formal statement would be issued, but Shepard didn't bother to listen. She was no longer important to their discussions. She had dreamt of the day that they would finally get off her back, stop ringing her up every time they needed something cleaned up and squared away with her particular skill set. Now that it had come...

She left, quickly and discreetly. Standing at the base of the stairs, one hand braced against the hand rail her breath came hot and furious. Her mind reeled under the implications.

She had known it would happen. Two months of flirting with death, unmoving in a hospital bed had made her body useless. It was nearing the six month mark of her injury and she couldn't walk two feet without her crutches. It could take years before she could meet the physical standards of an average soldier, let alone retake her former excellence. Her aim was shot, her respiratory system hastily rebuilt into a machine half as effective as before, her joints groaned with the effort of moving. After twenty years she suddenly wasn't a soldier anymore.

"Shepard, I'm sorry." Anderson had followed her, leaving the other Councillors to their trivial scheduling concerns. "I fought to keep you with the Spectre's, to make them wait for you to heal. But..."

But she might never heal. Not completely. She might never be what she used to be.

"I understand." She replied quietly. "I really do... I... I..."

Anderson put a hand on her shoulder, his dark face gentle and comforting. "I know, it's hard to have it taken away from you. I remember. It's natural to be angry."

"I'm not angry." Shepard said, and laughed. "If you want the truth, I've never felt more relieved."

She looked up at his puzzled face, laughed again. His expression was priceless. He had obviously expected her to wilt under the onslaught of her sudden uselessness, to give up and surrender to her own uselessness. But she felt vindicated, freed. Her chains had been cast off. The galaxy could depend on someone else now, could hang their concerns on someone else's shoulders while she stood tall and strong on her own.

She smiled. "In those books of my mothers there is a poem by some ancient earth poet that goes, 'for many a time I have been half in love with easeful death, called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, to take into the air my quiet breath. Now more than ever it seems rich to die, to cease upon the midnight with no pain.'*" She laughed. "I never thought I'd find some six hundred years dead old man to speak for me, but there you go. I've been in love with death for so long, it's been my purpose, my function. And now it makes me sick. I've fought enough wars, seen enough. I want my time to rest now."

Anderson put his arm around her, hugged her close. She could see the tears making his eyes wet, but didn't draw attention to it. She smiled at him, an unburdened smile that bloomed across her lips.

"You've earned that rest, Shepard. You more than anyone." He paused. "But what are you going to do about Alenko?"

That was a shock, though she supposed it shouldn't have been. What wasn't a shock, was her complete lack of a legitimate answer.

What would she do? What could she do? There was one more battle she had to fight before she could lay down, take the weight off her bones and finally rest. She squared her shoulders.

"Whatever I can." She said finally.

*= The poem is 'Ode to a Nightingale' by John Keats. If you haven't read it, you should.


	8. Chapter 6

After the War Chapter Six

The recycled air was stale and over-warm as she tried to catch her breath, sweat running down her face and making her eyes sting slightly. She closed her eyes, listening to the frantic beating of her pulse as it started to slow, her body slowly uncurling and going still on the thin exercise mat she'd laid out on the floor of the apartment. All was still and silent.

She hadn't bothered refurnishing it, after Kaidan, though she often thought she should have. It reminded her of him sometimes, a terrible ache that drove her back to the comfortable uniformity of her cot on the ship. But she had no eye for the subtleties of comfort and design, and had grown so used to it the way it was that there didn't seem to be much of a point. It wasn't like she was there that often anyway. It was just another stage, another piece of illusion that had allowed her to entertain the fantasy that she was more than a simple soldier.

Now though, there was no where to escape to. The Normandy had been shut down, taken from the docks to storage until the Commander Shepard Exhibit at the Galactic Museum was finished construction. She shuddered as that disturbing name flitted through her mind. The Commander Shepard Exhibit. She rolled onto her side, pushing herself up with exaggerated care. Yesterday her leg had given up when she was halfway off the floor and she'd hit her head on the coffee table. She eyed the piece of furniture with undisguised distrust as she settled on the couch, pulling her brown blanket over her legs.

As she ran her fingers over the familiar weave of rough fibres she called up an extranet screen, that projected from the centre of the hated table and hovered before her in the air. A friendly VI popped up in the corner, a new program. It greeted her with the mix of immaculate cheer and crisp efficiency that characterized virtual intelligence.

"I want to buy some furniture." She told it.

"Over sixty five billion results for your search. Please narrow your parameters." The VI intoned cheerfully. She sighed.

"Coffee tables?"

It took a further half hour before she had narrowed her search enough to see any actual options, and she automatically hated every one of them. Sighing, she closed the search and stared moodily down at the little VI who smiled emptily back. She wished that they didn't do that, make them smile and fidget like they were real. She had enough instances of the lines between virtual and artificial intelligences blurring. She didn't need to wonder if her extranet browser was having an off day.

"I want to see the specs on Mindoir." She said suddenly. She wondered what it was about the planet that kept drawing her mind lately. She traced the simple border that had been woven around the edge of her blanket. The thick, hand-stitched cloth grated comfortably across her palm. The screen flickered and the information gathered by the most recent Council reports flashed up before her. Streams of data, that she deciphered with the effortless skill of someone who has spent a lifetime reading such charts. An idea was brewing, just an idea, that brought her away from thoughts of coffee tables, her bunk on the Normandy and the general mess that had become life in the past half a year. She scanned the reports on developing life in the area. Apparently the horses had gone feral, roaming wild in huge herds with no natural predators present. She smiled at the thought sinking deeper into her blanket and the comfortable couch. She was just thinking of ordering Turian food when there came a knock on the door. She hissed in dismay and curled up tighter on the couch, closing her eyes tightly.

'Nononononononogoawaygoddamnitgoaway." She thought feverishly, hoping that she could force the invader away with sheer force of will. Another knock, this one more assertive then the first, echoing through the heights of the vaulted ceiling. She groaned and pulled herself up, hooking her crutches under each arm and made her way toward the door, swearing quietly under her breath.

"Reporter, wll-wisher or assassination attempt?" She asked, leaning against the door without opening it. She would stay in here fighting with the browser VI for her entire life if it meant never having to talk to another reporter. The fans were better, if only just. Only the assassination attempts were any fun.

"Assassination attempt." Kaidan replied, from the other side of the door. Damn him, he still knew her to well. She sighed, opened the door. He managed to smile at her. "I knew that would be the one that got you to open the door."

"Har har, a mind-reading door-to-door comedian." She drawled, making room for him to enter the apartment. There was no point in trying to keep him out. He came in, closing the door behind him. "Exactly what I needed."

She hadn't spoken to Kaidan since the incident in her cabin, unless she counted her addressal to the crew concerning her retirement. She wasn't surprised to see him here. In fact, she was more surprised that he hadn't come sooner, though she supposed it was pretty easy to guess why.

"I resigned my commission today." She had been hobbling to the kitchen to get herself a drink before the inevitable discomfort started when he spoke from the door to the living area. His back was to her so she couldn't see his face. He seemed to be studying the display on Mindoir that was hovering in front of the couch, a meteorological summary floating front and centre at the moment. She cocked her head to the side.

"Why would you do that?" She asked, her voice neutral. She didn't want to get pulled up in another one of Kaidan's emotional traps. Just being in the same room with him made her insane, the pain and betrayal she felt mixing uncomfortably with the longing she had for him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, advanced further into the living area, out of sight. She followed him, frowning. "Hey!"

"I heard you." He replied. He was staring out the window now, at the glittering crest of the krogan monument. How many times had he stood right there, staring out across the artificial lake. She shivered as memories returned of his bare skin, the supple muscles she could still see standing out under his clothes. He was dressed civilian, obviously since he wasn't really military anymore. Black t-shirt and simple pants, no gun on his hip, no familiar shapeless armour. A real person, suddenly, stepping into the skin of a military mannequin. Just like her. "I just had to think a moment. It all happened so suddenly. I don't think I really knew the answer."

He looked back at her, his dark eyes troubled as they always were now. She wondered if it was just with her, if he was ever happy. She seemed to remember a time when they had both been so.

"Shepard, can you ever forgive me?" He asked suddenly, taking a step forward so he stood directly in front of her. She stared up at him, her shoulders squared, her chin held high. Even held up with crutches, in civilian clothes and forcibly retired she struck an imposing figure, full of the vigorous fire of life that had kept her going so many years, fuelled so many acts of human greatness. She bit her lip. She sighed. Her shoulders slumped a little, her posture relaxed. She sighed again. Such a normal gesture.

"Oh Kaidan. I don't know." She shook her head slowly. "I was always taught that forgiveness was holy, that it was our Christian duty to forgive those that hurt us because that was the only way that either of us could grow as people. But that was a long time ago, and a lot has happened since then. I don't know if I have the faith it takes to forgive anymore. Even though I know you're sorry. Even though I love you."

Christian duty, forgiveness, faith. Those were so old to her, remnants of Mindoir and her parents with their obscene rosaries and empty prayers. She hadn't thought of God, or any of his various trappings, for years. Hadn't thought of anything as soft as forgiveness. Being a hero had made her cold, she realized for the first time. Her attempts to save the galaxy had done nothing for her, except make her less and less a part of it.

His hands at his sides trembled for a moment, wanting to touch her. She could feel his gaze rake over her and felt colour rise in her cheeks. No one looked at her like that anymore. When she had been twenty-four, with a full body and a future ripe with potential men had looked at her like that, with passion and longing in their eyes. But not anymore. Who wanted a cripple in this day and age, when only the most horribly misused creatures had so much as a scar? She had often wondered. But Kaidan did. She could feel his desire for her, and the only thing that worried her more was the attraction she felt for him in return. He was forty now, hard-lived, getting wrinkles and creases around his eyes that were more noticeable. His muscles were losing the lush definition of youth, becoming the hard sinew of aged strength. He was no longer the man he'd been. But she could feel her want for him. She shifted, trying to get away from his look.

"Stop it." She said finally.

"I can't help it." He replied, honestly. "I never could."

"This isn't the time for it." She insisted firmly. He nodded after a moment, rubbing at his eyes. He was getting a migraine. She could tell, and felt the familiar twinge of concern and sympathy. Sometimes they were just headaches, that made him snappy and irritable for a few hours before the painkillers kicked in. Other times, the slightest sound was enough to bring tears to his eyes. She motioned to the couch, but he shook his head.

"It's nothing." He lied, knowing she wouldn't buy it. "I didn't come here to check you out, or pass out on your couch until the meds kick in. I came to talk."

"What could we possibly have to talk about at this point?" She asked despairingly. "Can't we just agree to forget about it? Send Christmas cards once a year and be like every other young love that didn't work out?"

"Is that what you want?" He asked. He tried not to sound hurt, and failed. She shook her head.

"No. But wouldn't that be easier?"

"It hasn't been so far."

"Shut up. Sorry. I know. But I'm so tired Kaidan. I want something to be easy for once. I'm sick of fighting for every second of happiness." She leaned back against the wall, readjusting the sit of her crutches and feeling the cool surface pressing comfortingly against her tense muscles. She studied him with keen grey eyes, her head tilted slightly to one side. "Why did you leave?"

It was the real question, wasn't it? The one thing that really stood between them, stopped them from ever moving forward. It was the one thing that needed to be answered, needed to have some sort of resolution. He shook his head, looked at the floor as though he felt to guilty to meet her eyes. But she had a right to know, and did nothing to relieve him of his tension. She deserved to know, after all these years of wondering. Finally he opened his mouth and gave her the only answer he could.

"Because I wasn't happy."

Her frown deepened, became a grimace of pain and she turned away. It felt so pathetic, hobbling away from him but the anger was back from its slumber behind the serenity of her retirement. If she wasn't careful she'd wind up punching his head off, crutches or not. He didn't follow her and she stopped a few steps away from him, breathing uncomfortably fast.

"Well that's straight forward enough. If you weren't happy on the Normandy, why did you come back?" She asked, her voice hard with anger.

"Because I love you. I wasn't happy on the Normandy, stealing moments between missions and passing the time between shoreleaves in a haze of flirting and subtle double-entendre. I wanted you, all of you. I thought it would be easier, having nothing instead of half. But I was wrong. I missed you more every day for eight years. By the time I got back to you it was like you were the only thing that mattered. I would have tried to kill the Reapers myself, if it just meant seeing you again." He laughed shortly. "Luckily for me, you had that covered."

She managed to smile. "I told you, pistols are for wimps. Shotguns are the way to go." There was a pause, unknowable things happening behind her eyes. She had every right to still be mad. To be furious. He had left, he had said he didn't want her with his surprise transfer and years of non-communication as blatantly as if he'd shouted it from the Command deck. If she wanted to, she could send him away now and be without guilt or blame for how they ended. But she surprised herself, when she thought of this, because she didn't want to. More than anything, she wanted him to stay.

"I'm sorry." She said finally. His eyes snapped to her, wide with surprise. She chuckled lightly. "I was so angry though. I never stopped and thought that anyone could have been as unhappy as I was at that point. Or that they might be smart enough to do anything."

He blinked. "You're not angry anymore?"

"No, I'm still angry." She replied. "Believe me. But I understand. I forgive you. If I could have run away at that point, I probably would have to." She shook her head as he opened his mouth, trying to get some other piece of an apology out, another confession to muddy the waters that had just been cleared. She was past apologies, past dwelling. The anger would fade, become nothing but past memories in a life that was suddenly full of potential for the future. Her fingers pressed lightly over his lips, sealing them.

"I know what you're going to say." She said. "You want to know what we are, what we're going to become. You want to put everything straight and right between us, to get everything in order the way you love to have it. But no, Kaidan. No. There's no way to know what we are, what's going to happen, what we might become. I'm so sick of talking around an endless stream of 'I don't know'. I don't care what we are, what we might become, what the name for us is. Let's just be us." She took her hand away from his mouth, hesitantly. He smiled, caught her wrist gently, his rough fingers running over the back of her hand.

"I thought I was supposed to be the mind reader." He said, running his hand back down to her elbow. She shook her head.

"I just let you think you were." She replied. He made a disbelieving sound akin to a snort and shook his head. Goose bumps rose wherever he touched her skin. A shiver ran down her spine and she could feel a deep heat burning inside her, a fire untended for to long. She grabbed his hand, pulled it between them.

"Please. I can see right through you." He said quietly. They seemed to be very close all of a sudden, though Shepard certainly couldn't remember moving any closer to him. She didn't move away though. She realized her crutches weren't holding her up anymore, that she'd left them against the wall where she'd been leaning. That didn't seem important at the moment.

"What am I thinking right now then?" She asked, challenging him with every syllable. He considered her for a moment, a look of intense thought on his face before he grinned crookedly.

"I can't repeat such things here. It's impolite." He teased. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What about in there?" She pointed to the bedroom and he smiled, his arm finding its way around her waist, the warm muscle sliding around her like a favourite coat, familiar, warm and soothing. She leaned into him, inhaled deep breaths of his scent. His lips brushed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheek. He hovered by her ear, his breath warm and damp.

"It'll have to do." He whispered, and a moment later she was in his arms as he carried her toward the bedroom. They didn't stop to get her crutches, or let her limber up her healing joints or take the pills she was supposed to before rigorous exercise. They had the rest of their lives for things like that. In those few hours between the end of the old and the beginning of the new there was nothing in the entire galaxy that mattered but the two of them becoming one again.


End file.
